


85. Dark as chaos

by tveckling



Series: Dare to Write challenge [52]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Graphic Violence, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Mutilation, Very messed up characters, very high chaos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 13:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tveckling/pseuds/tveckling
Summary: Emily died. It kept repeating in his head whenever he was still. Emily died. He failed. Again. The only good, pure thing in his life, was gone forever. Not even a heart with a shadow of her spirit was left.(He had failed once again, he had let her die, he couldn't save her, he couldn't save her, he couldn't save either of them.)Emily died.And he had let her fall.





	85. Dark as chaos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kecchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kecchan/gifts).



Emily died. It kept repeating in his head whenever he was still. Emily died. He failed. Again. The only good, pure thing in his life, was gone forever. Not even a heart with a shadow of her spirit was left.

(He had failed once again, he had let her die, he couldn't save her, he couldn't save her, he couldn't save either of them.)

Emily died.

And he had let her fall.

\-----

The city was in disarray, even more than when the first wave of plague caused panic swept through every crook and cranny. The throne was empty, even though it was months after the announcement of Emily Kaldwin's death had rang through every speaker. There had been people trying to claim it, of course, but Corvo got rid of them one by one. The throne belonged to Jessamine and Emily, and he would not allow someone else to sit upon it.

They whispered, the citizens, about the masked man. They all knew now who he was, but no one dared name him, fearing that if they did he would hear. And woe those who caught his eye; what remained of them was rarely enough for anyone to recognize them by, and whenever a family member disappeared the rest immediately thought of them as dead.

The masked man held no mercy in his heart, for children or adults or elderly, civilian or guard or Overseer. Not that there were many Overseers left in the city. It hadn't taken long for the Abbey to decry the masked man as an agent of the Outsider, and in response he had systematically worked on destroying what was left of the order. Those who had any sense had fled to another island; those who didn't died, their corpses left mutilated on the open streets.

There were far more shrines to the Outsider now, with people praying to the only one they thought might be able to keep them safe.

\-----

Corvo barely blinked as he looked down at the guards walking the streets. He didn't really focus on the city watch, leaving many left to try to keep the city calm. It amused him to see, so he only dealt with them when they got in his way.

They were in his sight now, however, and that meant that they were in his way. He held his weapons ready as he dropped down between them.

The screams were over too quickly, he thought with a grimace. Maybe he should have played with them longer, drawn it out more. But the pulse of the heart in his pocket reminded him that he had actually had a purpose by going out on the streets that night. Even though Jessamine didn't talk to him any longer she still helped him, he thought as he stroked a light finger over the heart, leaving a wet trail behind. That's why he loved her so.

(He missed her voice, he missed her, he missed her so bad, so bad, so bad, and he hated himself for being relieved that he couldn't hear her disappointed voice any longer.)

The building was easy to break into, he only had to create winds to blow away the door. No further guards were waiting inside it, but Corvo knew it wouldn't have made a difference had there been. He would only have had more blood to shed.

On the second floor he met a maid, who actually attacked him. She had crumbled to the knees like most servants did and begged for her life, but when Corvo had gotten close to her, preparing to cut her in two, she pulled out a knife. It was certainly unexpected, and even though he only received a small cut he was impressed. It was unfortunate that he had killed her so quick; he wondered how long she would have been able to scream for.

When he reached the second room to the left his head filled up with whispers, and he knew he was close. A quick look with his dark vision showed him a yellow shape sitting bowed in front of an item that made Jessamine's heart pulse, and Corvo let a satisfied smile slip onto his face. There was no need to hide or sneak, so he simply pushed open the door and walked through.

The man kneeling in front of the shrine turned around, anger filling his face rather than fear. It was unusual, to say the least, and Corvo found himself enjoying the sight. But then, it wasn't strange that such an Outsider obsessed worshiper felt no fear for the man said to be employed by the god.

"You've been putting your nose where it doesn't belong," Corvo said, idly swinging his sword.

"You pretender! You have nothing to say about my doings, how dare you!" The man—Corvo didn't even know his name, didn't care—clutched a rune against his chest as though it would lend him strength. "You're just using the name of our savior so you can slaughter innocent people guiltlessly!"

Corvo started laughing, and soon found he had trouble stopping. Innocent? Innocent. Innocent innocent innocent innocent. No one was innocent! They all bore blame, they all had blood on their hands, every single one. They, as a city, had let down both Jessamine and then Emily, and they had both died because of it—because of _them_!

"There are no innocents left in Dunwall," Corvo managed to say after a while, and he grinned at the man. If he had removed the mask it might have had more of an impression, of course. "And the Outsider is no savior of yours. And he is tired of your rituals."

The man took a step back, desperately shaking his head, the anger on his face now replaced by fear—but still not of Corvo. There was a difference. No, it was Corvo's words that stirred up the fear, the doubts.

Corvo scoffed, feeling his amusement quickly fade. This man was not worth any more of his time. He didn't even feel like a chase. "And so, your God wants your death. Now come here, it will only hurt more if you-"

Of course the man turned. Corvo sighed, but he didn't manage to Blink before he realized where exactly the man was heading. Crossing his arms Corvo watched as the man threw himself out of the window, his abruptly ended shout sounding something like 'Outsi'. Devoted until death, apparently. 

"He was told you wanted him dead, and so he killed himself," Corvo said and shook his head. "Was there even a point of asking me to go here?"

"There is always a point, my dear Corvo."

Corvo turned to the shrine, glaring at the figure sitting on top of the stone. "You know that I _hate_ being used. By you, by anyone. You ordering me around for your own amusement drives me mad!"

The Outsider tilted his head, a barely-there smile on his lips. It felt like the god was laughing at him, and Corvo gritted his teeth.

"But can I really drive you mad when your mind have already broken?" the Outsider asked, in his soft, mocking, infuriating voice.

Corvo growled and raised his right hand, firing off a bolt that would have gone through the Outsider's shoulder had he still been there. A soft laughter echoed in the room, making Corvo's frown even deeper. He could almost feel the hands ghosting down his chest, the lips by his ear. "Not here. Why don't you visit me tonight, my dear. Then we shall have fun."

Sighing heavily Corvo walked forward to rip his bolt out of the wall. The ghostly presence had disappeared and so there was nothing of interest left for him in the room. His dark mood stayed during his way back to his apartment, since unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on who was asked—he didn't meet another soul. As he slipped into bed and into sleep he wondered if a certain someone had had a hand in that. The thought only fed his rage.

If the Outsider wanted him angry, then he would get what he wanted.

\-----

In the waking world he was strong, but in the Void Corvo felt invincible. Strong, vigorous, perceptible, in ways he could otherwise only dream of. Perhaps that was exactly what he was doing?

"The Void is more than what you dream of, but when you enter it through dreaming you do alter it to certain degrees. More than others, I would say, thanks to your bond with me."

Corvo glared down at the Outsider. "You've already recovered?" And he had thought the cut out tongue would create a longer period of silence.

"You had a question, one that I felt warranted an answer." The Outsider turned his head so he could look up at Corvo and smiled. Despite him having recovered his tongue, or magicked it back, or however he had undone the damage he hadn't cared about removing the blood.

The sight of the bloody mess made Corvo moan, and he tightened his grip on the Outsider's hips as he thrusted a few times, hard. He heard a breathless gasp and wondered if the wounds he had carved into the Outsider's chest were rubbing against the stone altar Corvo had bent him over. He shivered at the thought and put one hand on the Outsider's back, pressing him down further against the rough surface. The Outsider's hands scratched against the stone helplessly as he groaned.

It was a pity, he thought as he looked down on the Outsider's unblemished back, that the wounds he created always disappeared when he next got the opportunity to look at them. But then, it also gave him more opportunities to create them, so he supposed he couldn't complain. Every time he could mark the Outsider anew, create new patterns of cuts, release his anger again and again and again into the pale body. Every time was like the first.

Thrusting as deep as he could into the body beneath him Corvo took the knife he had left beside them on the altar. With one hand he kept pushing down the Outsider's shivering body, while he lightly traced the knife down the spine. It was barely grazing the skin, just hard enough to be felt but not enough to make any sort of mark. Then, when he moved it upwards, he slowly applied more force and watched as the blade cut skin. Blood slowly rose from the opened wound.

Beneath him the Outsider scrambled at the stone surface again, taking heaving gulps of breath as Corvo bloodied his back. He tried to push up against Corvo's hands, tried to escape the knife, but there and then Corvo was the one with the power, the one who looked down on the other man with a mocking smile.

(He knew it was only pretense, he knew that he couldn't actually do anything the god didn't allow him to, he knew, he knew, he knew, but still he pretended.)

The Outsider's fingers were bloody from his struggle to get free, and he let out pained sobs as Corvo pressed the knife deeper. He was tightening around Corvo, and it was almost enough for Corvo to lose himself in, drop the knife and just thrust into the pliant body beneath him until he found his relief. The unblemished back was covered in cuts, blood flowing slowly down on the stone. Maybe it was enough.

Corvo ripped the blade out of the Outsider's body, earning another pained wail, and threw it carelessly to the side. It was something Void-created anyway. Focusing instead on the release he could feel coming Corvo gripped the Outsider's hips and thrusted, mindless of his partner's pain or pleasure. He closed his eyes and let the sensations take control of him—the heat of the Outsider around him, the gasps escaping from the Outsider, the very knowledge of what exactly he was doing and to who—and soon he came to a stuttering halt.

For a second he stood still, frozen in his position, then he slowly pulled out and leaned down to rest his forehead against the Outsider's shoulder blade. He wasn't surprised that it was yet again unwounded and all the blood gone as though never having been shed. The skin, when he explored what he could reach of the body beneath him, was whole and perfect. Just like it always was.

With his eyes closed Corvo didn't see what happened, but he could feel their surroundings change, and he only let his body curl into the bed that took the place of the altar. In his arms the Outsider shifted, turning around, and put his own arms around Corvo.

"I'm still here," the Outsider said as Corvo opened his eyes and searched his chest for any signs of the wounds he had created earlier. "Nothing you can do will stick, and neither will anything someone else does. I won't disappear."

Corvo frowned and searched for a few moments more, but then he let out his breath and nodded. Some tension left his body as he pressed up against the Outsider, but not all. He doubted he would ever really feel relaxed or at peace again, even in the Void where he knew there was nothing that could challenge the Outsider's will. There wasn't anything, or anyone, that was untouchable. There was weaknesses, there always was, and if Corvo didn't find it then someone else would.

"You'll just have to make sure to be the first one, then. If anyone can do it, it's you, my Corvo," the Outsider mumbled with a chuckle. "Until then, rest."

Corvo considered, but soon closed his eyes. He was tired, empty, wrung out in a way that only the Outsider could make him—by taking all of his feelings into himself—and rest sounded so very good. At least in the Void he didn't dream.


End file.
